


Hanahaki

by AplusIsRoman



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety as a Plot Point, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Clark Kent is Superman, Clark Kent is a Good Dad, Cute Kids, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Has a Heart, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damijon - Freeform, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Easter Eggs, Family Fluff, Flower meanings, Gen, Hanahaki AU, Hanahaki Disease, I promise, I'm proud of the dialogue in this, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is a good brother, Jonathan Kent is Superboy, Jonathan Samuel Kent Has Anxiety, Language of Flowers, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, Lois Lane is a Good Mom, M/M, Miscommunication, More fluff than angst, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Soulmates, Scientific Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Vomiting, all these tags make the fic seem really bad but it's NOT it's FLUFFY, brief mention of Damian's Titans, but it happened in the past, but they're there, go check out her stuff!, hanahaki, it's from when Damian died don't worry guys, supersons - Freeform, the TimKon is in the background because again kon does not actually make an appearance, there's one (1) mention of kon but he doesn't show up sorry, they're hidden deep, this story could be improved by having more of Alfred, this was a winter-holiday gift to my sibling, we all know he Got Better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23471572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AplusIsRoman/pseuds/AplusIsRoman
Summary: Damian was quite convinced he had no soulmate. No ‘atomic memory foam’ made flowers grow on his skin, and never once had he seen someone with flowers over the places he had scars. (And he had many scars.)-Jon wasn’t worried about the injury. He was worried about his soulmate being worried.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Clark Kent, Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 61
Kudos: 691





	Hanahaki

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Justmylifeiguess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justmylifeiguess/gifts).



The scientists say humans are 93% stardust. They theorize that soulmates are two or more people primarily composed of bits of star that were clustered together before their star was destroyed. This natural magnetism, caused by what is colloquially referred to as ‘atomic memory foam’, is what draws soulmates together. A set of soulmates are not always inclined to monogamous romantic attraction - sometimes they are more platonic, or polyamorous. Monogamous romance is, however, the most socially acceptable form of soulmate. 

Science has yet to completely identify the source of the flowers, but it is not hard to determine their cause. If one soulmate is injured in a way that breaks the skin, a flower will grow on the other soulmate(s) in that injured place in proportion to the amount of damage done. If one soulmate has a scar, the others have permanent small flowers on that stretch of skin. This also applies if one soulmate loses a part of their body permanently. The soulmate of a person who has had an amputation will have a ring of flowers on that limb where it was cut and removed. 

The most tragic form of the flowers is when one soulmate dies. The other soulmate(s) will start to show signs of illness, with flowers coming up their throat from the lungs and out their mouth. If not treated, this “hanahaki disease” can be fatal. Soulmates rarely live more than a few years after their partners have passed though, regardless of the presence or absence of hanahaki. 

-

Damian was quite convinced he had no soulmate. No ‘atomic memory foam’ made flowers grow on his skin, and never once had he seen someone with flowers over the places he had scars. (And he had many scars.) 

His father had a soulmate. Whenever Damian was forced to go to galas, he would notice Bruce scanning the crowd for the woman with pretty little scar-anemones. And sometimes when they chased each other on the rooftops, one of her claws would nick his skin, and a small sunflower would poke through her cat-cowl in the same place. 

His siblings had soulmates. Stephanie claimed she liked purple so much from the little violets that she would get on occasion, little nicks on her soulmate’s fingers or scrapes on their legs. Tim rarely got any flowers at all, but when he did, absurdly large camellias would happily make their way up his skin. Small hyssops would freckle Barbara’s arms. Dick had multicolored statice somewhere on him all the time. His sister Cass had delicate freesias that faded as quickly as they came. Even Jason got some from time to time--though he must have hidden them well. Damian had never actually seen any of Jason’s flowers, but according to Dick, he’d had black-eyed susans when he’d been Robin. 

Damian never had flowers. Sometimes he’d thought he had, only for the petals to fall off him as soon as he noticed them. His family teased that he was a petal magnet, their own loose petals sticking to his skin with only light static. His mother had been convinced his soulmate had simply not been born yet, but at this point he disagreed. Thirteen years was plenty of time for a soulmate to be born. There was simply no one who shared stardust with him, that was all. (Damian supposed he had to have been made from mostly a very lonely star.)

As rare as it was to meet a soulmate, (despite the various websites and applications dedicated to just that,) Damian figured it didn’t matter. Everyone else got on just fine, and so could he. 

The air was thick with smog tonight. Usually Gotham’s regular storms would keep the pollution in the sewers, away from most human respiration--but it hadn’t rained in over a week. For a city like this one, it was practically a drought. The dark clouds hung low and heavy, but refused to share their cargo with the world. Damian scowled at the sky. Somewhere across the city, Red Robin was hacking up a lung. The idiot hadn’t even bothered to turn off the microphone on his comms, and Damian didn’t feel like reminding him of how annoying he was at the moment. Everyone else on the comm link stayed silent. 

The sounds of a scuffle came from a few alleys away, muffled voices and frantic movement. Damian leaped over the few buildings separating them, glancing down at what appeared to be two teens involved in a personal rivalry. Their clothes indicated they weren’t likely to be involved in gangs, and given their body language during the fight, they weren’t very experienced with using their fists. Damian let his legs dangle over the edge as he watched it play out, too bored to intervene and ruin his only entertainment for the night. 

One boy feinted, managing to slug the other one, who fell on his butt. The first boy hesitated, clearly uncertain where to go from there. Damian scoffed, drawing their attention to the child on the roof. 

“Holy shit, Robin?” The one still standing went slackjaw. 

Damian waved a hand, as if dismissing his own presence. “Don’t mind me. Go ahead, continue. You seem to be winning.”

“Oh--oh, right.” He turned back to the other boy, who took it as a cue to scramble to his feet. The winner pushed him roughly back down to the ground and scowled, glancing up over his shoulder at Robin for a moment before demanding the loser give up. The violence seemed to have stopped then, because now they were just shouting. From what Robin could tell, they’d been fighting over some girl. How sad. Without a sound, Robin left and resumed his patrol. 

He returned to the manor and scrawled out a quick report of the only action he’d seen, if it could be called that. He began to remove his uniform when Nightwing returned, his ever-present grin morphing into one of surprise when he glanced over to his brother.

“Dami, oh my goodness! Those are so cute!” Damian looked down at his legs, where he had just pulled off his boots, to see what it was Grayson was babbling on about this time. He saw the small blue petals peeking out under his pant leg and scowled. Had he somehow managed to pick these up from those two squabbling boys? How repulsive. He shook his leg to get them off, but they stuck resolutely to his skin. Grayson was still cooing, talking about flower theory and such nonsense--which was about as reliable as the zodiac in predicting a soulmate’s personality,  _ honestly _ , Grayson. 

Damian reached down to pull the flowers off himself, only to find a slight pain when he tried. He tugged again, rolling up his pants a bit as his brother wandered off to greet the others as they returned from their own patrols. Damian stared, then, at the lovely blue larkspur that had sprouted from his own skin and was very happily anchored under his flesh, with no obvious intent of leaving. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as the realization hit him full force.

He had a soulmate after all.

\---

Jon was not quite used to having superpowers. His invulnerability kept turning itself on and off, and the whole laser-vision thing was just a mess. But Dad was helping him train a little bit. It occurred to Jon, as he cradled his bleeding leg from where he’d fallen in a failed attempt to fly, that he had never really injured himself before. His Dad, having super-hearing and X-ray vision, along with speed rivalling the Flash, had always just… caught him before he got hurt, or stopped him from doing something stupid. It stung a bit, but it was just a scrape--a big scrape, sure, but nothing to worry about, or so Mom assured him. 

Jon wasn’t worried about the injury. He was worried about his  _ soulmate  _ being worried. 

Kryptonians didn’t get flowers, Jon’s dad had explained to him, but they had soulmates too. They were partly colorblind until they met their soulmate--Clark had genuinely not known his iconic suit was so bright until he’d met Lois, and suddenly everything made sense. And those rare few times Dad got injured, flowers would pop up in those same places on Jon’s mom. 

Jon wasn’t colorblind, but he’d never doubted that he had a soulmate. He always had a few scar-flowers somewhere on him, and though they were easily concealed beneath long sleeves and pants, Jon knew the injuries that had caused them must have been severe. 

Jon was pretty sure he’d had another soulmate before, too. But that soulmate had died. 

That had been horrible. He’d woken in the middle of the night, coughing and choking on white heather. It burned his insides and his parents had risked taking him to the hospital, since the Justice League had no doctors for hanahaki disease. Jon had cried and cried for weeks. The flowers didn’t kill him, something his parents were relieved about--but Jon felt empty and sick for months. 

And then just like that, out of the blue, he started getting flowers again. 

Jon knew his soulmate had been through a lot. The scar-flowers showed that much. And if they and Jon shared the third, deceased soulmate, then they had suffered through the hanahaki as well. Jon didn’t want them to worry about him on top of all that. He’d just have to avoid getting injured anymore, to make sure his surviving soulmate was okay. 

It was the least he could do, since he’d never met them. 

“Jon?” Jon’s dad poked his head into his son’s room, breaking him out of his thoughts. Jon still had to focus to use his super-hearing, so he hadn’t known he was coming up. 

“Hey, Dad!” He grinned, swaying his bandaged leg off the side of the bed. “What’s up?” 

“Well, I was wondering…” Dad sat down beside him. “You’re not the only kid to go into heroing, you know. Would you like me to introduce you to some of the others?” 

Jon’s face lit up at the idea. “That would be so super cool! Get it? It’s  _ super _ -cool!” 

Dad chuckled at the pun. “Alright. I’ll see if I can set up a playdate or two.”

He pat Jon on the back before heading out and leaving Jon to daydream. What kind of friends would he make? He wondered if maybe someone like Wonder Girl would even give him the time of day. Did Kid Flash play video games? What about Beast Boy? They always seemed so cool on TV… but what if they didn’t like him? They were still older, and they fought bad guys all the time. All Jon had really done was accidentally incinerate a cat. They weren’t likely to be impressed, even if he was Superman’s son. 

He grumbled to himself, worrying now that maybe he’d made the wrong choice. Maybe he should train more before he introduced himself, or save a school bus or something to make a good first impression. He hoped whoever his dad was talking to would go easy on him. 

The knuckles on Jon’s right hand tingled not unpleasantly. He glanced down to watch the white heather bloom, only a few tiny ones that signified a benign injury. Jon huffed a laugh. He suspected his soulmate got into fights a lot, as this was fairly typical. The flowers usually fell off after a day or so. 

Sometimes, though, the flowers were big and plentiful, and Jon worried the night away with a hand to his throat, chasing nightmares about coughing up flowers. But this soulmate was resilient, and the bad injuries didn’t happen often. He wondered why his soulmates kept getting so badly hurt. He hoped he met them soon. He was Superman’s son, after all, so he would protect his soulmate and make sure no one hurt them ever again. 

\---

Drake was being an asshole. This was nothing new, so Damian had punched him, as was his usual method of reprimand. The new thing was why.

Drake wheezed, unfazed as he had yet to take his body armor off. Damian’s knuckles had little pinpricks of blood on them from where they’d grazed themselves on said armor. It wasn’t his smartest move, but it was instinct. Drake said something stupid and Damian punched him. It was routine. 

“Who would have thought the big, tough,  _ son of Batman _ ’s soul-flowers would be so  _ cutesy _ ?”

So Damian punched him. Reflex, and all that.

“For your information, Drake,” Damian hissed as Grayson meandered over with a first-aid kit, “these flowers tend to imply dignity and grace, both things YOU seem to be lacking.”

Damian was not well-versed on the supposed interpretations behind flower types and colors. It was all as much hogwash as zodiac signs, really, but some put stock into it, so he’d done a quick internet search as soon as he’d come to his senses after the realization that _ he had a soulmate. _

“Mmm,” was Drake’s only reply behind the snickering. Damian huffed, heading upstairs to the manor.

Titus eagerly awaited him, pushing his nose into Damian’s side as a gentle greeting. Damian pet the dog’s head and permitted one of his rare smiles to make an appearance. Titus sniffed at the boy’s leg, intrigued at the light perfume that the flowers radiated. 

Father’s voice wandered through the maze of open doors and hallways. He must have been in one of the many office rooms, Damian supposed, all decorated to ensure paparazzi and the more welcome guests visiting the manor that Bruce Wayne was a wealthy businessman and nothing more. (Certain offices were even tailored to suit specific reporters’ tastes, as to sway potential investors in favor of the company. It was all a bunch of frills and facades, but Damian figured that likely still would have been a part of their lives even without the vigilante secret.)

“I agree that the concept is wonderful, Clark, but trust me when I say you do not know my son. Damian isn’t like Dick, or even Jason or Tim. He doesn’t just _ make friends _ .” Damian paused outside the doorway to the third office he’d checked, listening in on the phone conversation occurring on the other side of the door, slightly ajar from where Father had failed to close it.

“You realize his introduction to the Teen Titans involved kidnapping them? And you ought to know that he’s perfectly capable of breaking into my supply of kryptonite. I trained him specifically to be able to do so, in the event of an emergency.” Father paused, listening to the voice on the other end. Damian thought of the small kryptonite birdarang he kept hidden in one of the secret pockets of his Robin uniform. What was Father planning? Or, perhaps more accurately, what was Superman planning? 

Father grumbled something Damian couldn’t hear, then barked a laugh. What was it that Kent said to make him laugh? He NEVER laughed. Grayson would want to be informed of this development immediately, as soon as Damian heard the end of the conversation. Which he had every right to eavesdrop on, considering they were talking about him!

“You have a point. What days work for you?”

Father was making plans… for Damian? With Superman? What for? 

“Alright, we’ll see you then. Have a good evening, Clark. Tell Lois I said hello.” There was a pause as Father presumably hung up the phone. “You can come in now, Damian.”

Because of course Father knew he was there. He was Batman.

“I heard my name,” Damian explained his lurking, suddenly self-conscious about what he had come to talk about. 

“Yes, it seems Clark is looking to introduce his son to some other heroes-in-training, and since you’re closest to his age he thought you would be a good start.” Father leaned back in his chair, shuffling around some of the papers on his desk. “I’ve set a meet-date in the cave on Thursday before patrol.”

“So, I will be mentoring him?” Damian crossed his arms in thought. “That could be an advantageous exercise for both parties. I see now why you agreed to Superman’s proposition.”

Father looked like he wanted to say something at the misconception, but only sighed and seemed to wave the thought off. “The core idea here is to make friends, so don’t be too hard on him. He’s never met any heroes outside of his family, so keep in mind that you’ll be representing all of us come Thursday evening.” 

Damian could see the value in an alliance like this. After all, Damian would inherit the Batman mantle one day, and it was reasonable to assume this… son of Superman would likewise follow in his father’s footsteps. Then together they would take on the title of the world’s finest, and keep the planet (and their respective dedicated cities) safe.

“What’s his name?” Damian asked. 

“His name is Jonathan. He’s ten.”

“What is his alias? Or am I simply to refer to him as ‘Superman’s son’?”

“He’s taking Conner’s old title: Superboy.”

\---

“The youngest Robin. His name is Damian. He’s thirteen.” Dad looked up from his cooking to kiss Mom’s cheek as she came into the room in her pajamas, hair wet from a shower. “We’ll be flying over to meet him and Bruce this Thursday, after you finish your homework.”

Not only was Jon meeting Robin, he was also meeting Batman? Jon gulped, chewing his bottom lip. “Does, um, does Mr. Wayne like kids? Or should I just kind of… keep quiet, like when Mom has work meetings over dinner?”

Dad laughed at that. “Despite what he may claim, he actually loves kids. He’s got ten himself, you know.”

Jon gaped. “Batman has TEN KIDS?”

“Something like that,” Dad shrugged. “Unfortunately it’s difficult to keep track of them all, especially the newer ones.”

“Wow.” Jon wasn’t sure how to reconcile his mental image of Batman, the looming dark figure he saw on TV next to his dad, with that of a single father of  _ ten kids.  _

“Damian, I believe, is the youngest, so you two have that in common,” Dad continued. “Apparently, he’s very fond of animals.”

“Maybe you should bring Krypto,” Mom spoke up, grabbing a piece of bell pepper from the cutting board before Dad dumped it into the pot and popping it in her mouth with a satisfying crunch. “He’s been cooped up for a while. He could use the exercise.” 

Dad laughed, big and boisterous. Jon’s dad never chuckled or huffed or giggled; he loved to laugh loudly. It was hereditary, and got Jon in trouble in school for being too obnoxious during class. “Unfortunately, I think Bruce would have a conniption if we did. But maybe take some videos playing with him, that could help win him over.”

Jon laughed, an echo of his father. “Yeah, let me just try to take out a camera without Krypto grabbing it and flying off. That’ll work.”

“Careful now,” Dad grinned, “keep up the sass and people will know Lois is your mother!”

Mom chuckled--a soft sound that bordered on a snicker--and whacked her husband on the arm with a wooden spoon. “Jon, why don’t you go put your homework away before we set the table? You don’t want to forget it at home again.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll go do that.” He jumped up to his feet and ran up to his room, taking the stairs two steps at a time. Part of him hoped he’d slip on the carpet and fall but instead of hitting the ground with a thud, look down to find himself floating--flying! It’d be just like in the movies! Only life didn’t always work out like the movies, so that didn’t happen, and Jon made it unscathed to the top of the staircase. Oh well, he consoled himself, there was still a chance it’d happen on his way back down!

\---

It happened again later that evening, at dinner. Pennyworth was just setting the table when Damian felt tingling on his elbows, pins and needles as if they’d fallen asleep. 

Todd had deigned, as usual, to not eat with them, but had been in a good enough mood following patrol to at least come into the manor and take a bag of food home with him, and was loitering about as Pennyworth scooped portions off the serving plates for him. 

Damian's stomach rumbled, and he scowled down at his so far untouched tableware. Pennyworth would have a fit if he began to eat before everyone else was ready, so he forwent leaning over to grab his part of the delectable dishes in favor of not sending the grandfatherly man into an early grave. 

“Somebody’s hungry,” Todd leered, having moved closer at some point during Damian’s temporary distraction. 

“Of course. I’ve already begun adolescence, and will need a steady and nutritious diet if I am to reach my inevitable height of  _ taller than you. _ ” Damian crossed his arms and huffed, leveling a glower not quite up to ‘Bat-glare’ standards at his elder brother. Todd’s eyebrows shot up as if they had suddenly become self-aware and had decided, in their good judgement, that they wanted nothing to do with the body they were connected to. 

“The demon brat has a soulmate?” Taunts? Those, Damian could stand. But the incredulous look on Todd’s face made Damian’s blood boil beneath his skin. The blue on his elbows no longer tingled, so Damian had forgotten about them in his haste to partake in the family pastime of one-upping each other with sarcastic and borderline-cruel comments. 

“Why so shocked?” Damian spat. 

“I didn’t think you had a soul, quite frankly.” Todd’s face lost some of his hostility and softened just a speck. “Was kinda worried for you, honestly.” 

Damian’s next words choked on their way out. Todd had not only noticed Damian’s lack of soul-flowers, but was worried about it? Todd, who would rather rip his own bloody, beating heart out of his chest and eat it than admit he still had even remotely fond emotions towards his family? 

“Well, obviously,” Damian recovered, “my soulmate is of a higher caliber than you fools’ soulmates, and simply managed to avoid injury until recently.  _ Obviously _ .” 

“Or they were just born,” Todd shrugged, taking the over-sized paper doggy-bag from Pennyworth and thanking him for the food before turning back to Damian. “Guess that rules out romance for you, but maybe you’re more platonic soulmates, ya know? You might actually get to be the big-brother figure for once.” 

“That… is a possibility that had not occurred to me.” Damian’s ears burned at the concession, but it was true--what if Damian’s soulmate was an infant? The thirteen-year age gap would be… difficult, but perhaps Damian could mentor the child, and fulfill the ‘big brother’ role Todd spoke of… like Damian and Grayson. Romance would of course be completely out of the picture, because that sort of thing was disgusting, but that would be no deal breaker on whether or not Damian gave their mutual soul-bond the time of day. 

“Now, this is all assuming you ever even MEET them. I mean, maybe your soulmate’s an alien, like, a really gross goo alien who only eats puppies,” Todd prattled on, and Damian aimed and threw one of the table knives at him to get him to shut up. Todd ducked without pause in his chatter, but he did seem to get the hint, inching out of the room and towards the front door as the other house guests made their way to the room. 

It was not just possible, but in fact probable, that Damian’s soul-flowers had only now made an appearance due to his soulmate not having been born. He tuned out Grayson and Drake’s conversation as he ate and mused over this new development. He would of course find his soulmate, that was of no question. The son of Batman had enough tools at his disposal to do so. The world of magic, science, and science fiction was all at his fingertips. 

Perhaps he would pen a message to Zatanna and ask for some sort of locator spell? Surely, with the worldwide obsession over soulmates, such a spell would exist. And if that did not work, he could see if some of Grandfather’s less-than-loyal affiliates would be willing to steal something off him to that degree? Did the Green Lantern Corps have proceedings in place for uniting intergalactic soulmates, were Todd’s alien predictions to come true? (After all, Superman’s soulmate was a human woman, proving that interspecies soulmates could be found. But what if Damian’s soulmate was one of the species without any soul-tells, no flowers or colorblindness or prophetic dreams or matching birthmarks or countdowns on their skin, as the varying species Damian had encountered could? How would Damian know, really know for sure, that they were the one he was searching for?) 

“You’re quiet this evening, Damian. Something on your mind?” Father set down his cup, interrupting Drake’s monologue on why math was red, not yellow, as Grayson claimed. (A redundant argument. Math was green.) 

“Yes,” Damian tapped the prongs of his fork against the edge of his plate, following the beat of a tune only he could hear. “This upcoming mentorship with the Kent boy. I am thinking of how best to make the experience profitable to both parties.”

Specifically, he was thinking about how it would be practice for meeting his soulmate. His newborn soulmate, who would need guidance in life and a good teacher to give it, and how working with Superboy would be a good chance for Damian to become that ideal mentor he was now determined to be for his soulmate. 

“You’re doing what with the who now?” Drake frowned, likely thinking of the wrong Superboy. 

“Father has set up a meeting for me with Kent and Lane’s young son, Jonathan, for Thursday evening,” Damian clarified. “You ought to know by know that I have no intention of meddling with you and your boyfriend, Drake.” 

The sputtering coming from the other end of the table was amusing to listen to as Drake tried in vain to convince the others that he and the clone had a strictly platonic relationship. Grayson hummed and nodded, fighting back a knowing smile. In other contexts, Damian despised that smile, but given that it was directed at Drake, Damian was content to revel in his least-favorite brother’s misery instead. 

“Grayson, actually, I was wondering if you and I could have a discussion after dinner, somewhere more private?” Damian spoke a little quieter, taking Grayson’s glance his way and subtle nod as an affirmation. That was one of the things Damian liked about the eldest of Father’s adopted children--even if he liked to joke, and was all-around a lighthearted person, he knew when to take things seriously, and he valued Damian’s contributions and trust. This showed in how Grayson didn’t bring Damian’s hesitant request to the attention of the rest of the table, but immediately after the table was cleared, beelined straight for one of the emptier lounge rooms.

Grayson sprawled over one of the many sofas, letting Damian settle in one of the armchairs beside him before speaking. “So, what’s up, little D? This about the, uh,  _ mentorship  _ with the new Superboy?”

Damian paused. That was only part of what he wanted to talk about, and it was the smaller part, but perhaps it would be easier to start with. 

“Yes. You’ve taught many young heroes, myself included. Is there anything… any advice you could possibly give? I’ve never done this before, and I want to make sure I do it well.”  _ I need to do this well, _ he didn’t say.  _ You’re the best mentor I’ve ever had, _ went another unspoken thought,  _ can you help me?  _

“Oh,” Grayson straightened from his relaxed pose, clasping his hands together on his lap. “Well, for starters, Jon’s only a little younger than you. So if you want to maintain an amicable and open relationship, you should treat him like your equal.” 

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but Grayson held up a hand and continued. “I understand you’ve had a ton more training than him, and that you  _ are  _ older, and yada yada yada. But he’s a kid. He doesn’t care about that. If you want him to listen to you, to trust you and respect you, you have to acknowledge that you’re both people, and that you both have valid opinions, experiences, and skills.” 

Grayson smiled, as if there was some sort of irony in his words that Damian didn’t understand. “Another thing you should keep in mind is criticism. If he does something and you find something wrong with it, try to find something he did right as well, and tell him both of those. That way he’ll understand what he did wrong, but he won’t feel like you’re attacking him or that he’s a lost cause. You’re pretty good at picking out details, so this shouldn’t be a problem for you, as long as you remember both parts.” 

“And be sure to listen to him if he needs to talk, alright? Even people less experienced than you have important things to say.” The blue eyes gazing at him twinkled with some forbidden older-brother knowledge Damian wasn’t privy to. “That builds trust and respect on both sides, without fail.” 

Damian swallowed, nodding. He’d been expecting advice more on the lines of what style of combat was acceptable for beginners, but this… was admittedly far more valuable. Trust Grayson to have some nuggets of wisdom hidden in that cotton-candy brain of his. 

Grayson let the silence settle as his words sank in. Damian rubbed his arms, fingertips brushing against blue petals. His leg throbbed absently with the phantom sensation of the flowers still laying there. The words caught up somewhere between Damian’s brain and his throat, dragging out the empty air between them, but Grayson didn’t push it. Nor did he get up and leave, or play on his phone as if Damian were nothing but a task to complete, just a box to check off. Grayson drew lazy circles on the armrest of the couch, waiting for Damian to voice what was obviously weighing so heavily on his mind. 

“I…” Damian’s mouth felt dry as Grayson looked up at him, face open and gentle. “I want to find my soulmate.  _ Very badly _ .” 

That wasn’t the whole thing. That was only part of it. But it was all Damian could force out in that moment. 

Grayson blinked, surprise evident in his expression. “Oh, okay. Do you have any clues?” 

Damian nodded. “They’re young. Younger than me.” 

“And--” Damian gestured to his elbows and leg, “--they may be a bit clumsy.” 

“Huh, alright,” Grayson looked thoughtful. “Well, that’s more to go on than nothing. But you do know you don’t… you don’t need to meet your soulmate. It’s not, like, a requirement. It’s pretty rare outside of Hollywood movies.” 

“Our lives consist of events straight out of television dramas and fever dreams,” Damian insisted. “The vast majority of the Justice League know the identities of at least one of their soulmates. Some of them are soulmates with each other. And Father and Selina have known for years!” 

“Woah woah,” Grayson held out both hands in surrender. “I know, trust me. I’m just saying, if you don’t find them, it’s not the end of all things. You can find friendship and love and, you know, family in other places. And it won’t be any less real than what you could have with a soulmate. It’s just a bit more… you know, organic, than the soulmate stuff.” 

“If you could find your soulmate--” 

“I’d be thrilled out of my mind, Dami, you know me.” Grayson’s grin spread, and his eyes got a daydream sheen to them for just a moment before he let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I’m just a sap, you know that. But I’m happy where I am. I have friends, and I have my family.” 

“And redhead-of-the-week,” Damian couldn’t help but interject. 

Grayson snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m not lacking in the love department, Dami, is what I’m saying. Romance? Currently, yes, I’m shamefully single. But a person can be loved without romance, just as much as a person can be loved without a soulmate.” 

“But what if I want a soulmate anyway? I don’t even care what kind of soulmate!” Damian admitted, his voice rising in volume as he worked himself up. 

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to meet your soulmate, little D--” 

“I didn’t even know I had a soulmate until today! I always thought--” Damian choked suddenly, the mood spiraling as a startling, strangled noise coming out of his mouth, trying to gasp out the words he’d been trying to say this whole time. “I thought--I thought I had no soulmate. Until today. I thought--I thought I was--”

The sudden warmth around him was not a surprise. Grayson was a hugger, and would pounce on anyone showing even the slightest emotional response. Damian was immensely grateful they’d chosen this particular room to hide away in, so no one else would be there to witness Damian fighting off tears as he clung to Grayson’s shoulder like a pitiful child. 

\---

Jon woke up with a bittersweet taste on his tongue. It lingered after he ate breakfast and brushed his teeth, and bothered him all throughout the school day. Some people teased him for the scrapes on his knees and elbows (still couldn’t fly, not quite yet), but it was all in good fun. He got home, did his homework, took care of the animals, the usual. Dad cooked dinner, and Mom picked out a movie for them to watch as a family, curled up on the couch until it was Jon’s bedtime.

Repeat. The next morning, the bittersweet flavor seemed to have transformed from a taste in his mouth to a fluttery feeling in his gut. Jon wondered if he was getting sick. There were very few doctors they could go to, given his kryptonian DNA, and Jon didn’t want to worry his parents, so he didn’t say anything about it on his way out of the house. On the bus, he noted the white heather had mostly disappeared. Jon’s soulmate was definitely in an opposite time zone, he figured, because they seemed far more active at night than in the daytime. 

Jon went to class, chatted with friends, and played around at lunch. None of the food his mom had packed tasted any good, even though he usually liked it. The feeling in his gut swirled and Jon decided it was in his best interest to not eat any more. 

He went home. At dinner, he claimed to not be hungry. His parents shared concerned glances, but didn’t fight him on it.

The next day was Wednesday. Jon was starving. He ignored the weird feeling and requested thirds of his breakfast, much to the relief and amusement of his parents. He didn’t feel like barfing yet, so he chose to just keep going like normal until he was normal again. 

One of Jon’s teachers scolded him for being distracted, but it went through one ear and out the other. The sick, fluttery, bittersweet feeling seemed to surge every time he thought about Thursday. Tomorrow, he’d be meeting Batman and Robin. And--okay, now he definitely felt ill.

“I think I’m going to puke, may I go to the nurse?” The teacher’s horror at the notion of vomit was all the permission he needed. She shooed him out of the room hastily, shoving a hallway pass into his hands and closing the door behind him. 

He didn’t end up doing anything, but the nurse was concerned enough about his temperature (kryptonians tended to run warm) that she gave his mother a call. One of Jon’s classmates brought him his things and wished him a get-well-soon around the time Mom arrived.

They were in the car and heading home when she asked him what was wrong.

“I do feel sick,” he admitted. “I know I’m not supposed to go to the nurse and everything but I really don’t feel good.”

“Is that why you didn’t eat last night?” Mom glanced at him through the rearview mirror, concern evident in the lines around her eyes. 

Jon nodded. “I didn’t want to worry you guys or anything.”

“If you’re sick, honey, you’re sick. Hopefully it’s just a bug or something, and we don’t have to go to the doctor.” Mom’s tone got lighter. “Remember when Dad got that cold last year?”

Jon giggled at the memory of dodging ice-dagger sneezes and snores so loud it sounded like a train was going past their house. It hadn’t been as fun at the time, but in retrospect it was pretty silly. 

“Do you think you can stomach some good old chicken noodle soup?” The car pulled into the long dirt driveway leading up to the house. 

Jon grinned. “Yeah, probably.”

Dad got home not soon after the soup was finished. He’d heard everything, of course, and bought some sickness comfort items from the store on his way home - gatorade, popsicles, hot-and-cold packs, and some crackers for the soup. Mom scolded him for cuddling up to their sick son, citing that none of them desired a repeat of the year prior. Overall, though, it was nice, and the bittersweet feeling had completely been forgotten by the time Jon fell asleep on the couch, cocooned in an absurd amount of blankets. 

\---

Damian had felt ill for the past three days, but he’d be damned if he let it show. Although his insides howled in protest, he continued to eat the same amount as always. His work was exemplary, as usual, both in the field and educationally. He’d stopped two attempted home burglaries, three muggings, and foiled a minor kidnapping plot before it ever even began. He’d also been helping his father snoop for clues regarding a bigger case, something involving a disagreement between Mr. Freeze and Poison Ivy--Damian didn’t know all the details. Most of Father’s cases worked on a need-to-know basis, anyway. 

The only change in his behavior was a rise in his fluid intake. Damian did want to get better, after all, and if he could flush out this stupid stomach bug before it became more debilitating, well it was all the better for everyone. So there he was, sitting criss-crossed on the roof of a Big Belly Burger in full Robin regalia, chugging from a two-liter bottle like it was the last clean water in the world. 

“Holy shit, batbrat, you trying to drown on dry land?” The solid thunk of the Red Hood’s boots landing behind him rang in Robin’s ears. He set down the half-empty container and turned to scowl in his brother’s direction. 

“That is hardly enough of a danger to warrant your concern,” he griped. 

“You do know you can die of overhydration, right? It’s like, surprisingly not uncommon, actually. Particularly in athletes and in this case, I think we count. As athletes, I mean.”

“Cease your rambling, Hood. Don’t you have some dingy alleyway to patrol?” 

Red Hood shrugged, plopping down next to Robin, who sighed and mourned his previous solitude. “My turf, my time. I can do it later.”

“And if something is happening right now?” 

“Then I’ll worry about it when I hear about it.” Red Hood shoved Robin’s shoulder playfully. “You worry too much. You must a’ been hanging around the replacement recently. He’s wearing off on you.”

“He is NOT wearing off on me.” Robin was appalled at the mental image of himself, but as Red Robin. No, that was definitely never happening. 

“Besides,” Hood continued, “don’t  _ you  _ have a patrol to be doing? Doesn’t Daddy Bats give you all synchronized schedules and then yell at me when I interfere?” 

“I have already scoured the docks for activity. Nothing but the usual drug deals, which I of course stopped. Not that it will do much since they were only low-level lackeys and not the origins of the drugs, but,” Robin shrugged. 

“Yeah, I think Golden Boy’s working on a drug case right now that ties back to ‘haven, or something like that.” Hood fiddled with his guns for a moment, calm enough while doing so that Robin didn’t feel threatened by the action. “You’re not usually one to retire early. Or to chug fuckin’ two-liters. What’s up? You sick?”

Robin tensed. Damn detective father raising detective brothers. Why couldn’t they all be the idiots they pretended to be? 

“Quite frankly, it’s none of your business. I am perfectly capable of carrying out my duties as Robin and as Batman’s partner, not that you’ve ever quite cared about that.” 

“Yeah, you’re right on that last part, but I think it is a wee bit my business.”

“How?” Robin was tired. The sickly sensation in his stomach reared its ugly head and he scowled, forcing the bittersweet taste back down his throat. 

“Maybe ‘cause you’re the brother I’ve tried to kill the least amount of times, I dunno. Some sentimental bat-family bullshit.” Red Hood’s helmet made it difficult to read him if Jason did not want to be read--an intentional thing, of course. Robin tried anyway, in the lean of his stance as he sat, the way he shifted his weight onto his right hand where it rested on the rooftop so he could angle his head up to the smog-choked night sky. It still had yet to rain.

Why the hell would the Red Hood give a shit about Robin’s well-being? While Hood and the bats coexisted in a state of pseudo-calm these days, fights to the not-quite-death were still common and would divide Gotham for months before one side or the other reconciled for some perceived slight. 

Robin was an extension of Batman. The Red Hood hated Batman. (Or so he claimed.)

“Been a damn two weeks since it rained. I’m used to it being gloomier than this.” Red Hood hummed a tune beneath his helmet, seemingly content to sit in relative quiet next to his sort-of brother on the roof of a fast food place for the rest of the foreseeable future. 

“Perhaps that’s it,” Robin murmured, using the unyielding clouds as victims for his bat-glare practice. 

“Why you’re chugging a two-liter?”

“I have not been… feeling at my peak, lately,” he confessed. “I did not tell anyone as I feared they may revoke some of my duties until I am well again.”

“Ah, I see. Yeah, I used to lie to Agent A back when I wore the R, so he wouldn’t make me stay home from school.”

“You wanted to go to school?” Robin had heard stories of both private and public schools from his siblings, other children, and the media at large--apparently, it was a hell one could not escape until they turned eighteen (or were homeschooled, in Damian’s case.) “I was under the impression that the opposite was more common, lying and faking an illness in order to remain at home.”

“Oh, yeah, no, you’re totally right, that’s way more common. I was just a huge nerd. One time I asked Batman if I could skip patrol to do some extra studying, and later that night found him trying to discreetly test if I’d been drugged.” 

Robin let out a laugh, and hastily tried to disguise it as a scoff, but from the way Hood’s shoulders began to shake with his own inaudible laughter, he’d failed. 

“Well, I’m glad that’s all you’ve got going on,” Hood pushed himself to his feet, Robin following suit. “You’re a brat, so don’t go getting any big ideas about us getting buddy-buddy unless you plan on taking my side in an argument every once in a while.”

Robin tutted. “Please, as if.”

The Red Hood got out a grappling gun, leisurely aiming for a nearby building to swing from. Robin felt the unpleasant swirling in his gut again, along with a lurch that made him want to say… something. 

“Thank you for checking on me. You were under no obligation to do so, and the--your actions are appreciated.” Robin swallowed. Was that  _ too _ sentimental? Since when had the son of the Bat cared so much about the bastard prince of Gotham?  _ Since when had the damned prince of Gotham checked up on the child of his self-proclaimed rival? _

“Just don’t get any big ideas,” Hood repeated, but his posture was open this time, calm and sincere--the kind rare in this line of work, rare amongst both the ‘good’ and ‘bad.’ “But if you really want to talk to somebody--you know, sappy soulmate stuff and shit--and make sure it doesn’t get back to big bad Daddy Bats? Well, we’ve got more in common than you think.”

Robin was surprised by the interjection--what did soulmates have to do with his illness?--but before he could respond, he heard the quiet whizz of the grapple, and the Red Hood was gone.

\---

Jon went to school on Thursday, but his brain strayed to the cavernous expanses of his imagination, drawing up mental images of the infamous batcave. His whole body felt buzzed with electricity.  _ Batman and Robin. Robin and Batman. _

It was enough to make anyone dizzy. 

Jon was pretty sure, after some research online, that he knew what had made him so sick, and that was it: he was anxious. It explained why his illness only got worse whenever someone mentioned his upcoming meeting with  _ you-know-who-times-two _ ! 

Some websites talked about how a person’s anxiety over a planned meeting could be made worse due to a soul-bond. Other people on the forum debunked their theory, but Jon wondered still. After reading that particular comment, he didn’t feel sick anymore. He felt excited. He hoped it was true. Batman had a lot of kids, right? What if Jon was going to meet his soulmate  _ tonight?  _ Would he just…  _ know _ , like Dad had, or would he have to figure it out, like Mom? Oh goodness, it would make sense for Jon’s soulmate to be a vigilante! It would explain the injuries and the late-night activity so well!

And what if--no, he didn’t even want to think the words. He shouldn’t jinx his chances! But  _ what if-- _

What if his soulmate was the Boy Wonder, son of Batman,  _ Robin himself? _

\---

Grayson had said something that threw him off. 

“What if your soulmate is actually pretty close in age, and he just somehow never got injured before? Or did get injured but healed so quickly you didn’t notice? We do work with a lot of metas, ya know.” Grayson was eating dry cereal out of a resealable sandwich bag, his feet propped up on the dissection table in the cave like he didn’t have a care in the world. Damian gawked at him for a moment.

“That--that’s ridiculous.” Even though he had said the same thing to Todd the other day, Damian didn’t actually consider it as a possibility. “They’d either have to be some form of incorporeal, or nigh invincible, or have a healing factor beyond any we’ve ever encountered, because I have been  _ meticulous _ over the years _ , _ Grayson, and I’d notice any quick-vanishing flowers.” 

Grayson let out a hum noise. “The first one wouldn’t work, because they obviously did get hurt, somehow.”

Damian huffed. “The only being I can even think of having such high skin-level invincibility and healing factor is that kryptonian, and I have never gotten flowers from his injuries before. Besides, he’s an  _ adult _ , and he’s already married to his soulmate.”

Grayson nodded in acknowledgement. “What about Superboy? The younger one obviously, since you don't have any scar-flowers from Kon.”

Damian opened his mouth to refute that argument as well, but stopped when he realized he didn’t have enough evidence TO refute it. The farm boy’s son would likely have grown up sheltered and protected, and adding his powers to the mix made him…

...Possibly Damian’s soulmate. 

“Oh my god,” Damian’s voice wavered, and Grayson glanced over at him in concern. 

“What if my  _ soulmate _ is from  _ Kansas? _ ” 


End file.
